


Nice Car

by Kris



Category: Burn Notice, Supernatural
Genre: Community: comment_fic, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-03
Updated: 2009-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kris/pseuds/Kris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by misstitania Supernatural/Burn Notice, Dean Winchester/Michael Weston, "Nice car" in the comment_fic Livejournal community</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice Car

One of the harder things about being a spy is that you don't get to form lasting relationships. Because they don't last.

"Dean - Samuels," the man at the bar says and holds out his hand. The pause usually indicates that the person is inventing their name. Quick at the start, slower on the end means they're only making up a last name. The quick of Dean's lips says that this last name is an inside joke.

Michael smiles back, it's not the genuinely happy smile he sometimes gives, or even the 'I'm imagining myself disembowelling you' smile he gives his targets. This one is a slow, spreading smile.

He recognizes Dean's offered hand for what it is, sex. In the spy business, when someone offers you sex, you stay as far away from them as you can. Usually they're trying to get into your pants so that they can get into your encrypted files and your personal safe. Sometimes it's so they can shove a needle into the back of your neck and you wake up, burned, on a plane to Miami.

Not that he's bitter about it or anything.

Sex, however, can also be a wonderful stress reliever. And sex with a man with a mouth on him like Dean Samuels, well, that doesn't come around as often as one would hope.

"Michael," he says and takes the hand. Holds it for a shade too long and sees Dean's eyes darken in interest. "You wanna get out of here?" he asks.

"You have no idea," Dean says and they're crowding out of the bar and into the parking lot. Michael follows Dean through the parking lot, whistles low and impressed when he opens the backdoor of a well cared for black '67 Impala. 

"Nice car," Michael mutters and runs his hand down the side of the door. He misses the Charger.

"It's even nicer when viewed from the backseat," Dean's voice is full of dark promise and Michael shudders with want and climbs in and settles against the door, legs splayed open and stares at Dean staring back at him.

Michael runs his hand down to his jeans and unbuckles his belt. "I want to see your pretty lips wrapped around my cock," he says. Dean smirks and climbs in, the door shut behind him.


End file.
